


Parquet

by herbailiwick



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Being Lost, Gen, Haunted Houses, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2012-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-20 02:07:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/580106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herbailiwick/pseuds/herbailiwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Eva, who wanted "Holmes siblings bothering each other while stuck in the haunted Winchester Mansion, looking for the rest of their party, whoever that party may be."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parquet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eva/gifts).



"Sherlock!" he hissed. "Sherlock, get back here!"

"I've got to see where this goes," Sherlock said absently. 

"I have had enough!" insisted Mycroft. "We've already nearly gotten lost twice because you became distracted by the spiderweb windows and the chimney that didn't make it to the ceiling, but if you think that—!" Mycroft paused.

"What?" Sherlock said in exasperation. "I don't hear anything." He paused. "OH!" he said with a flash of horror. "I don't hear anything!"

"Quite. You've really done it now!" Mycroft accused. "I told you so."

Sherlock paused, then frowned because he had nothing to refute the claims with, then came dangerously close to sniffling.

Mycroft sat down on the gorgeous parquet floor and sighed, staring at the pattern as if it held the solution to finding the others.

"They'll have to come back for us eventually," Sherlock said.

"Or else we'll become playthings for the whims of the spirits until we starve," Mycroft sighed.

"We're not going to starve! At least, you're not! What would happen if I went first, Mycroft, would you eat me?"

Mycroft narrowed his eyes, trying to determine if it was a joke about his weight. 

"Which part would you start with? I think they often start with the fingers. You shouldn't eat the heart. Don't eat my heart; you'll go mad, if the spirits haven't done the trick by then. Face it; you're already half mad."

Suddenly, Sherlock stepped forward, tiny but forceful, pressing a finger into Mycroft's chest. "You're going to fix this, Mycroft. I don't care how distracting I was, you're the older brother. You're in charge."

"Nice to hear it," Mycroft said dryly. "It only took the possibility of a slow, painful, and terrifying death." He pushed himself back up, looking about the empty room with a swallow. "We can do this," he said. "At least, I think."

"Well, I'm inspired," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes. 

Mycroft narrowed his eyes again. "Alright." He lifted Sherlock under the arms and started to turn round in circles.

"Mycroft! What are you doing?!"

"An old trick for jogging the memory," Mycroft said, but he was lying. He just wanted to make Sherlock shut up so he could think. "Hush now," he said firmly, and Sherlock hushed.

Mycroft suddenly slowed to a stop and curled Sherlock in his arms. Sherlock, not-so-secretly frightened, wrapped his arms around his brother's neck. "Is the ghost going to get me, really? There's not really a ghost here."

Mycroft got very quiet. Sherlock buried his face in his neck and squeaked, "I like my fingers."

Mycroft reached for his little hand, mimed eating them until he earned a giggle, and then held him close again.

It took them a good ten minutes to find their way back to the concerned touring party. If they were any other children, it may have taken quite some time more. But they were not any other children.


End file.
